


wash me clean in the water

by cartoonheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-07 06:16:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17360588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: If he was a cliche, he'd say he didn't know how he ended up in this situation. But he's not, and he does. Andrew knows exactly how he came to be in the same dark motel room as Meredith Grey. And even more importantly, in the same small creaky bed, with scratchy sheets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This may be rendered inaccurate by the time 15x09 airs, so forgive me for that. 
> 
> There will be a forthcoming second chapter - hopefully sooner rather than later. All mistakes are my own. And if anyone needs a beta for fic in this pairing, drop me a line. I'm happy to help.

It's never registered with Andrew before that Meredith Grey's hair smells like cinnamon. He feels guilty for not noticing sooner, for not having truly taken in all those unique things that made her so intriguing. Now, he finds it difficult to imagine a time where he didn't notice all these little details about her. The way she moved her hands when she talked, all the colours in her eyes depending on the light, the way his heart rate increased when he spotted her in the corridor. 

So he'd confessed. He'd been brave and played his hand, and was now waiting to see where the cards fell. He didn't want to rush her, and so was giving her time and space - but even if he wanted to, he wasn't that good at staying too far away. Like a celestial body, he was well and truly in her orbit now. But regardless, Andrew wants her to be as sure as he is, and so for that, he's willing to wait as long as she needs.

Nevertheless, the smell of her hair surprises him, invades his senses, settling around him in the darkened room. He doesn't want to move in case he disturbs it, so instead opts to lie still, staring up at the ceiling, not moving, hardly breathing. 

There's a sigh next to him, one that's emanated from the depths of sleep. His body becomes fully alert at the sound, like an alarm has gone off inside him. Andrew holds his breath and waits, but there's only silence, punctuated by a light and rhythmic inhale and exhale into the room around them.

If he was a cliche, he'd say he didn't know how he ended up in this situation. But he's not, and he does. Andrew knows exactly how he came to be in the same dark motel room as Meredith Grey. And even more importantly, in the same small creaky bed, with scratchy sheets. There's even the added bonus of the heating unit that likes to emit a loud clunk every half an hour, like clockwork. When he'd imagined sharing a bed with Meredith (and he's big enough to admit that he's imagined it), this wasn't what he'd had in mind. But he's also happy to acknowledge that, despite the oddity of it all, he's definitely not complaining. 

But for a start, when he'd imagined it, he envisaged a bit more... touching? A remote chance at physical contact? But as it stood, she'd gripped his arm once on the flight during a sudden bout of turbulence before landing. Other than that (not that he'd admit to counting), ever since reaching the local hospital and consulting with their patient and their existing medical team, they'd scarcely even brushed against each other the rest of the day. 

And to add into all of this was the fact that that this small town only had one functional motel, situated on its outskirts. And while it was clean, the woman at the check-in desk had assured them that they had only one room left - with a small double bed. 

And so it was. Andrew's sure that if he moves at all in the night, he'll end up on the floor. And he had initially offered an alternative sleeping arrangement, before Meredith had waved away his chivalry with a "we're all adults here" response. It had seemed casual and nonchalant at the time. Nevertheless afterwards she'd suspiciously avoided his gaze for the rest of the night and quickly escaped to brush her teeth in the fluorescent glow of the 1970's decor bathroom. 

So he'd taken her at her word, even though he wasn't sure at first. And besides, the floor didn't look particularly accommodating, and he was definitely too tall for the bathtub. And after all, he reasoned, things had been fine earlier that day. He'd been determined to avoid any awkwardness, and since the elevator, they'd been in a good place. And if nothing else, Meredith had the honed focus of true professional, and so while he relished the opportunity to spend the next few days near her, Andrew was determined to try his best to set aside any other agenda, and just focus on the job. Because ultimately, he was getting the chance to watch her work first hand - a consult on a case that was both intriguing and technical. As a senior resident, he didn't get opportunities like this often - to travel with an attending and explore the walls of another hospital. But his fluency in Italian had been the reason for his accompanying her: it was the patient's native tongue, and local hospital hadn't been able to source a interpreter quickly enough given their remote location. For once it felt like fate was working in his favour, if he believed in such things.

And despite the awkwardness that had settled over them because of the sharing-a-bed situation, he still feels good about the experience. The procedure would be bold and exciting, and he would get to see some of Dr. Grey's most ambitious skills at work, and even help out at some points. He'll be more than content with that, he thinks, as the smell of cinnamon helps him drift off to sleep. 

\---

He awakes in the same position, staring at the ceiling, to something warm against his arm. It's pressing gently but not forcefully. The morning light is only just encroaching through the painfully thin curtains. He looks across, eyes slowly adjusting. The length of Meredith's back is pressed against him, the curve at the base of her spine the only place where she isn't flush next to him. Her hair has splayed itself against his naked shoulder, and it tickles his skin. She's asleep, he thinks, although he can't say for sure. Her breath is deep and even still.

Andrew wants to touch her, although he knows he won't. It would be so easy to roll towards her, envelop her in his arms, and pull her closer. But he respects her space and her boundaries too much to make that move, even though this situation has clearly been set up to test his willpower. He tries to remember a time in his life when something this innocent felt so erotic and draws a blank. 

At that moment, Meredith moves, seemingly halfway between sleep and awakening. Her hair is delightfully tousled. She rotates herself so that instead of her back facing him, it's her front. She's so close that the cold tip of her nose touches his bicep, and he's starting to grin like an idiot despite himself. Everything about this situation feels like he's on the cusp of something. His nerves feel electric, like at any moment they could spark and set him on fire.

In her tentative slumber, Meredith draws her knees up to her chest, like she's cold, so he gently tries to tug the blanket up higher over the both of them. But his movement must be too sudden, because it's enough to wake her.

Her bright eyes take a moment to focus on him, clocking his movement as he nestles the blankets up higher around them both. 

"Morning," she says groggily, not moving anything but her mouth. She seems slightly dazed, a little embarrassed by their position, by the way she's curled herself into him. 

"Hi," he replies gently, voice croaky from lack of use. Not his finest moment. Andrew takes in the sight of her, and prays these few days aren't the only time he'll ever get to see her like this. Less Dr. Grey and more Meredith, crumbled and hazy in the morning light. It's as beautiful thing as he's ever seen.

"Did you sleep okay?" she asks, as if now is the time for small talk, as if he's not noticing her slowly register the extent of their closeness, and the way her cheeks redden slightly at the outcome of her assessment.

"Oh you know, kept awake by some dreadful snoring," he teases, looking across at her with a grin. It lightens the heaviness in the air. 

"No!" she laughs, her hands flying up to cover her face, before they fall away and she's glaring at him. "You're lying!"

He raises an eyebrow, tries to remain serious. "Am I?"

He can't avoid the playful whack to his arm, and he's laughing deep and hard as she takes the pillow from under her own head, and propels it towards his face. It hits him square in the mouth.

"No, no, no!" he protests halfheartedly, putting his hands up as if in surrender, pulling himself upwards and leaning against the flimsy headboard. "It's too early for a pillow fight. I need coffee first." 

As much as he'd love to stay lying in this bed with her for longer, Andrew knows they have a big day ahead of them - and if anything, the temptation of having her so close, so relaxed like this, causes his hopes to soar of their own accord. But he's not sure he really wants to daydream about something he may never get to experience. He spent enough time after Sam left wondering whether it was better to have loved and lost than to have ever loved at all. And the idea of losing Meredith Grey, having never even had her in the first place, is a gut punch that he's just not ready to think about right now. So letting himself slide into this fantasy feels like the road to self-inflicted torture, and he's not had nearly enough sleep to be mentally ready for that today. 

The word coffee gets her attention, and she pulls herself upright too. Her simple t-shirt slouches off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin with a light dusting of barely-there freckles. He swallows heavily before pulling his glance away.

"Coffee", Meredith says, her determination clear. But still she doesn't move, seemingly satisfied to sit next to him a moment longer. Their shoulders touch - bare skin against bare skin, and Andrew tries not to react to the jolt that echoes through him, to the pit of his stomach. He thinks he fails. He's also acutely aware that he's not wearing a shirt, which he hopes isn't giving her the impression that he was being presumptuous when he crawled into the bed last night after she fell asleep.

They sit in silence for a minute.

"Do you want me to get the coffee?" he volunteers eventually. "I can duck out to the diner."

Meredith's nose wrinkles at the thought - and he's not in disagreement. The coffee on their visit last night had the consistency of drying tar. 

"I'll wait," she says, condemning them both to the instant coffee in the small but adequately stocked break-room at the hospital. It would have to do. 

"Do you want to shower first?" he offers, nodding his head in the general direction of the bathroom. The dated decor peaks through the slightly ajar door, and he grimaces a bit.

Meredith glances over. "No, it's okay - you go. I just want to call Maggie and check on the kids first".

"Okay, thanks," he says, at a loss for any other words. He swings his legs out of the bed, now even more acutely aware of his boxer briefs, and the cool air on his bare chest and legs. He takes a few moments to rummage through his travel bag, and select some items for the day, before heading into the bathroom.

He thinks he feels her eyes on him as he goes, but doesn't have the courage to check. But maybe it's just wishful thinking.

\---

She's screaming out into a dense woodland, anger and rage. Like, _literally_ screaming.

It's all frustration and loss, a realisation that the world isn't fair. Because sometimes things don't go your way, even when you do everything right. He knows how she feels because he feels it too - maybe not so viscerally, maybe not to the point where he needs to stand on the side of a quiet road and scream his lungs out until his voice is hoarse. 

But Meredith does. This is what she needs - and despite the fact that its starting to rain, and that he wants to vent his own emotions by punching the steering wheel of the hire car they've been sharing, he lets her do it. He lets her release those demons into the wilderness around them, her desperate cries being whipped from her mouth by the blustering wind.

After a moment she calms. Andrew can't see her face; she's looking out and away from him. But he can see the heaves of her shoulders as she gasps for air, taking deep breaths into her lungs. The operation today had thwarted her, all the odds not in their favour, and in the end, the outcome has meant that the patient may not have died, but may suffer more as a result. It was still unfathomable.

He watches as Meredith stares up to the sky, her long hair stretching down her back, slowing turning to tendrils in the wet. The rain is falling steadily now, big fat drops that hit hard against the windshield. He wants to comfort her, even though this moment now between her and whatever she is wrestling with feels private. He already feels too much like he shouldn't be here, like he is witnessing something he shouldn't see. Her loss of control, the crumbling of her unusually high walls. 

But then her head rolls forward, chin tucking in towards her chest, her hands rising to cover her face. Andrew can see by the way her shoulders move violently that she's crying, and that's enough to propel him out of the car and towards her, despite his earlier reservations. Meredith isn't a person who lets others witness the moments when her walls come down. Usually they are high and impenetrable - he's realised this about her, and he can even understand it given the burdens she's carried. But in this moment, he's unable to sit by, even feels humbled by the fact that she's allowed herself this concession in his presence. 

The rain hits him instantly. His flimsy jacket does nothing to shield him, the drops going what feels to be straight through and to his skin. He moves quickly to her, but stops abruptly before he reaches her side, hesitating.

"Meredith," he says. He hears the plea in his voice - the underlying question of _how can I help you_ inherent in his tone. He hasn't called her Meredith in what feels like too long. He's been so conscious of being professional throughout this situation, of protecting his own feelings, of being respectful. But at this point, he needs her to know she isn't his boss, and he isn't worried about keeping an appropriate distance.

She doesn't turn to him, keeps her face in her hands, but he hears her well enough when his name is uttered through her choked sobs. It breaks him to see her like this. But he knows that even Meredith Grey, the strongest person he knows, has her limits. And he senses that this outburst isn't just about today, although that's definitely the catalyst. It's also about all those other pressures and concerns that she's alluded to previously, all those things that weigh on her. 

But regardless, it's enough to drive him forward, moving now with instinct and without hesitation. She falls easily into his embrace, her face pressing itself against his shoulder, her arms crossed in front of her, now pressed hard against his stomach. He tucks her into him as something precious. Something he wants to protect even though she's the last person who would ever need protection, let alone coming from him. Meredith shudders against him, her shoulders shaking as they stand there. Andrew circles the palm of his hand against her back, trying to soothe her, breathing deep himself in the hope that she'll mirror him.

He wants to say it'll be okay, because that's what people say in these situations, and he wants to say _something_. But he also knows that this will never quite be okay, not for their patient, and not for her - despite the fact that none of what happened was her fault. That she'd been perfect and brave and amazing, but that in this case, the dice hadn't rolled their way. But even that was of little comfort now. 

After a few long minutes of this, Meredith quietens. They're both drenched to the skin. Andrew can hear the motor of the hire car idling behind them, reminding him that the real world was still there, on the cusp. The raindrops have traveled down the back of his neck, under his collar, and he feels the the back of his shirt sticky with the mixture of his body heat and the rain.

A few moments more and she raises her head. There's wetness on her cheeks, and he thinks it's tears, not the rain, but at this point it doesn't matter. Her eyes are red, but still wild and beautiful and in this moment he's so much in awe of her, that he can't help but want her even more. She amazes him, absolutely undoes him. 

"Are you alright?" he says eventually, even though he knows in the back of his mind that the question is redundant, the answer obvious. But he feels he needs to ask anyway.

Meredith is silent for a long moment, so long that he starts to think she hasn't heard him. "No," she says finally, after some thought. "But I will be".

He nods, understanding the sentiment, understanding it from his days as a EMT, or from those months after Sam had left. But it also leaves him with the gut wrenching realisation that he's utterly and stupidly in love with Meredith Grey and that he's not quite sure how he'll cope if she might not want him. Instinctively his arms tighten around her, even when he's probably supposed to be releasing her. But she doesn't protest, just lets him. Her eyes are searching his, and he hopes she can't read what's in his mind right now, hopes it isn't written plainly all over his face. The air feels heavy around them, the damp in the air mixing with something much more intangible. Andrew wants nothing more than to kiss her, even though he won't - not here, not now, not after the day they've had, and not after his promises to give her space - a promise that he's intent on keeping if it kills him. 

With reluctance, he loosens his hold, takes half a step back, missing the feel of her already. But it's for the best, he knows it is. But he can't quite bring himself to lose physical contact completely, so lets his hands slide to her upper arms, pressing gently in comfort.

"Okay," he answers with great care, like trying not to spook a flighty horse, "so what do you need?" It's a question that his mother always use to ask him when he was upset as a small boy. He noticed recently that Carina does it too.

Meredith glances up at him, her face settling into an expression of determination and defiance.

"We're going to get drunk."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything inside of him is trying to figure out a way to avert this situation. He's trained to save lives, not save souls, and even though in normal circumstances he'd like to take Meredith Grey out for a drink, this wasn't what he had in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments on the previous chapter. This didn't write itself according to my original plan, but these things happen. I hope you enjoy it regardless.

This is a bad idea, he thinks. Half of him is focusing on the slick surface of the road, the other half on Meredith who's now in the driver's seat of the car. She seems to know where she's taking them, her hands firm around the wheel, expression determined. They haven't spoken since the roadside.

Everything inside of him is trying to figure out a way to avert this situation. He's trained to save lives, not save souls, and even though in normal circumstances he'd like to take Meredith Grey out for a drink, this wasn't what he had in mind.

And to be fair, he's not judging. There are many occasions (many, many) where he's tried to numb his emotions with alcohol. He knows the temptation that oblivion holds - and that in the lowest of moments even temporary relief is better than nothing at all. But right now, he doesn't want Meredith to put herself through something that ultimately won't fix her underlying pain, won't erase the day they've had. 

"Stop looking at me." Her voice jars him from his thoughts. She doesn't sound mad, just tired. 

Andrew throws caution to the wind. "You do realise that you tell me not to look at you quite a lot?" He keeps his tone light, even though there's nothing but truth behind what he's saying.

His response must surprise her, because her mouth opens, but no words come out.

"And don't say that you don't say that," he continues while he's got the chance, "because you know you do." His jacket feels clammy against his skin, so he takes a moment to peel it off and throw it in the backseat. He then adjusts the heating in the car. It's all an attempt at the nonchalance he doesn't feel.

"I-" she fumbles, twisting her hands tighter around the wheel, "I... I do. You're right."

Andrew hadn't expected the acknowledgment, but he'll take it. 

"So, why?" he asks, hoping he's not pushing his luck, but sensing he might be. Although, if she's that determined to get drunk, she might not even remember this conversation tomorrow anyway. "Why don't you like it when I look at you?" It's a deliberately pointed question. One that he probably wouldn't have been brave enough to ask in different circumstances. 

There's a long silence while she slows the car a touch, like if she can control that, she can control the conversation. But she says nothing, gives away nothing. He's gone too far. He turns his focus to the world outside the car, sporadic houses, between great pine trees. Rain determinedly pouring, the rhythmic thud of the windscreen wipers. He can see a patchwork of bright lights up ahead, a few roadside buildings - a cafe, a petrol station, a bar. They had driven past here yesterday. She must've remembered.

Slowly, she eases the car into the bar parking lot. It's surprisingly busy for so early in the evening, vehicles packed into narrow spaces, and the sound of music from inside somehow managing to seep through the solid car windows. Meredith's efficient in parking the car, seemingly also an expert at that as well as everything else he's seen her do.

When she's done, she lets the engine idle, rather than switching off the ignition. He's grateful, if only for the fact that it allows the heater to continue warming him through to his cold bones. He's surprised she's not shivering, considering the way her damp hair is sticking to the back of her neck and the way her wet trousers have stuck to the tops of her thighs. He tries to focus.

Now that they're stopped, Andrew can't help staring at her expectantly, waiting for her to make a move. Even though, in his mind, the longer they stay in here, the better. After today, he's not particularly keen to face the outside world, even if it is in a bar full of strangers who don't know them, don't know what they've had to face these last few hours.

Finally, after a lengthy pause, she sighs, then speaks, eyes trained on her lap, hands still gripping the steering wheel.

"You... you look at me like I'm... _something_. Like I'm not... broken. And that's a lie." Meredith says it with such certainty that he doesn't doubt she believes every word. "I'm broken, and I'm not sure I can be fixed. And I think you want to fix me."

He instinctively opens his mouth to respond, to protest - but she continues, the words coming all at a rush now. 

"And I'm scared, Andrew. I'm scared of losing someone I care about. Because yes, I admit it, I care about you. I might even... like you ...a lot," her cheeks flush endearingly, and all he wants to do is take her hands in his. But he also doesn't want to break the spell. "So, yes, when you look at me, it reminds me of how it feels to be looked at that way, and then to... lose that person. To have them vanish on you, and how much that hurts. And how I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into - with me."

Her name slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

At this, Meredith finally looks over at him, her eyes big and rich with unshed tears. The sight of her pain physically hurts him, causes his heart to ache to such an extent that he has to take a deep breath.

"Andrew, you're a doctor. A great doctor. And as a doctor, you want to fix things. I know you do because I feel that way too - all the time - and I think you think that you can save me, or something. I don't know. But that's what I see, when you look at me. Rightly or wrongly, I see that, and the scary part is that I think... I want you to want to fix me. I want you to try. But I'm afraid you'll run when you realise you can't. And, and... I can't bear that, because when you look at me, I feel... I feel _seen_. More seen than I have felt in a long time... For so long, I was perfectly happy not to be seen, I didn't _want_ to be seen. But you see me, and I'm realising I'm ... I'm open to that. To being seen by you. Even though it's also..." she laughs a little, "terrifying."

The impact of the raindrops outside echo through the car, the accompanying swish of the wipers making a strange melody. The sounds fill the void she's left hanging in the air. There's so much he wants to say but doesn't know where to start, and maybe words aren't the thing right now. His heart is racing, his mind too. Does she really mean what he thinks she means? He's so used to her dodging and weaving, playing games, that he can scarcely believe the door she seems to be opening for him. 

Regardless, Meredith Grey has been through things that he can't even begin to imagine, and has come through the other side a different person each time. And he can understand why she's scared, because her past has given her every reason to be. But Andrew knows he doesn't plan on being another reason for her to be afraid. And he hears enough in her words to know finally that she's not been unaffected by him, and by what he offers. That he's an option for her and she's giving him chance to prove it. And it's enough for him to resolve himself, call up every shred of bravery he has left. 

So he smiles, gently, slowly, leaning across and unfurling her fingers from the steering wheel. Her hands are freezing, he doesn't know how she's coping. Silently, he moves their joined hands in front of the heating vents in the middle of the dashboard console. The air being forced out is warm, causing a almost painful tingling sensation in his fingertips as his circulation returns. She must feel it too, her hands flexing under his, but she doesn't pull away.

"Is that okay?" he asks quietly, his thumbs idly stroking across her each of her knuckles. Meredith nods silently, her eyes now trained on him through her lashes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, as to not startle her, he leans down. Turning her palms upwards, Andrew places a kiss on her exposed fingertips, first one hand, then the other. The pads of her fingers are warming, but still cool against his lips. He's hoping this isn't a stupid idea, feels as vulnerable as a little boy. His pulse is racing to an embarrassing extent.

"Is that okay?" he asks again, eyes glancing up, searching her face for any indication that he's made her uncomfortable, that he's overstepped the line they're dancing towards but not yet crossed.

Meredith nods. It's slight, but it's there. Her lips have parted and all he can see is the curve of them, the way her breath catches in her throat. Every nerve ending in his body feels like its on high alert. "Yes," Andrew hears her say, the word laced with something almost primal, so much so that it makes his stomach swoop with need. 

"Meredith," he says finally, raising his head so its level with hers. His heart is hammering in his chest so loudly that he thinks she must hear it. "I'm going to kiss you now. Like, really, _really_ kiss you. Is that okay?" His eyes lock on hers, and Andrew hopes she can see the determination there, but also the love. Because although he can't say it to her yet, use that word, he feels it completely.

It feels like an age until she responds to him, but in reality it is mere seconds. 

"Yes," she whispers. "Yes, please."

"Thank god", he exhales, breaking out in a relieved grin, earning himself a bemused smile from her in return. He releases one of her hands, moving instead to tilt her chin towards him. Meredith's eyes stay on his, watchful, shining somehow through the encroaching darkness outside.

Andrew doesn't want to say that kissing her feels like magic, or something equally as cheesy. And god, he'd never say that to her face. But he's imagined this moment for so long that he doesn't have the words to describe it anymore. It only feels...?

Right.

So here he is, kissing Meredith Grey. Kissing his boss. Her damp hair still smells like cinnamon, and her lips are soft. The plain of her jaw is smooth and angular against his fingertips. He wants to memorise her, memorise the way she's the one who moves towards him, her body leaning so that her chest is pressed up against his - the fabric between them still damp and cool from the rain. He wants to remember the fact that it's Meredith who takes her free hand and threads it through his hair, and uses the position to move his mouth closer. He'd been prepared to be cautious, but he's discovering its no use. Her mouth presses insistently, parting, searching and he can only oblige.

It's moments, it's minutes. He doesn't know. Only that her tongue glides against his, breath hot and urgent. Her hands are bold, his tentative. He's reluctant while she's forceful. He lets her lead, scared that he'll do something that will break the spell. Andrew knows in this moment that he's never going to be able to not kiss her again, and that the idea of giving her up, letting her go, is now impossible. He thought it had been before, but this was more, even more. He doesn't want to think of a world where he can no longer know the taste of Meredith Grey. He's willing to spend forever learning how her mind works, not to mention the way her body would move under his hands, how he would move under hers. 

But for now, her hand is sliding down his shirt front, pressing the small buttons into his chest. His mind goes fuzzy. It's too cramped in here for him to move far, but he places a tentative hand on her waist. Her top has ridden up, his palm connects with her bare cool skin. 

"You're cold," he murmurs between kisses.

"I don't care," she retorts breathlessly.

"I care," he replies without thinking, and it must be the wrong thing because all of sudden she's pulling back and he's left grasping.

Meredith frowns at him, like trying to figure out a puzzle. But before he can say anything, apologise for whatever it is, she's clambering over the gearbox, her head contorting against the low roof of the car, before settling down - in his lap.

Andrew hopes his mouth isn't wide open, but it probably is. The weight of her is wonderful against his thighs, even though he's only just getting the circulation and warmth back in his legs. 

"Body heat," she says, a catlike smile on her lips, "is the most effective way of raising body temperature, Dr. DeLuca". She leans over him, seemingly enjoying her new position of power in more ways than one. Andrew can't say he's bothered.

"Is that right, Dr. Grey?", he asks, his head tilting up, watching her. "I'd be honoured if you'd show me how it works."

She smirks, before shrugging off her jacket, throwing it into the backseat. Her hands move to the buttons on his shirt, moving quickly, nimbly. At the sight of his bare chest, she sighs contently, and then laughs at herself.

"Like what you see, Dr. Grey?"

"Don't be smug, DeLuca."

He laughs, leans up and kisses her. He feels her palms on his chest, her heat melting into his. His arms move around her, pulling her close. His body reacts to her weight on his lap. He knows she must feel it, her hips moving knowingly, her smile against his mouth obvious.

"I think you're the one being smug now," he says, using the moment to slide his hands up either side of her waist, and up further in retaliation. His fingers trace where her bra meets skin, and he's satisfied when she exhales deeply against him, her forehead resting against his.

"It's been a while," she says, as if to explain her reaction, like she feels she needs to justify herself to him. But he'd rather not know of all the other men who have been fortunate enough to touch Meredith Grey in this way. It isn't out of jealousy or possessiveness, because he can only acknowledge that they were the luckiest of men. It's more that he wants to be the last man to have this privilege. It's a thought that doesn't scare him.

His hands still over the lace edge of her bra. He feels the rise and fall of her chest, feels the way her heart is beating a rapid staccato. It may not be the right moment, but the words come out anyway. 

"Meredith, I don't care if you're broken or not broken. I don't care if you need fixing or don't. I want you however you are, Meredith. Whatever you choose to be, I'll want you. Whatever you'll become, I'll want you then too. Don't be afraid of that."

She stills in his arms, her face inches from his. There's a deep frown between her eyes, so he knows she's heard him, heard his meaning. He wants her to choose him, be with him, take this risk with him. He can't make her, he won't. But he wants it more than anything.

"Okay", she says finally, quietly. "Okay." More loudly this time. She nods her head in the slightest of motions, and then again more vigorously, more enthusiastically. The relief that crosses her face is palpable - as if now the decision has been made, she can stop fighting it, stop holding herself back. Andrew knows that it won't last forever - she's Meredith, he knows that she's still scared under it all. He'd be a liar if he said he wasn't too. But now that he knows she wants him, he'll fight for her every single day if he has to, if that's what's needed. He'll let her know that in time.

He knows no other reaction but to kiss her again, the freedom of being able to do so is like a breath of fresh air that his life has been waiting for all these months. Yes, she's his boss. And yes, her life isn't straight forward, she's a package deal. But that part has never worried him, in fact, it only amazes him even more. 

The kiss is urgent, like the floodgates have been opened, like there's nothing now holding them back. Her hands are everywhere, his face, his neck, his chest, sliding down and down, fingering the buckle on his belt. She has a number of small buttons on her shirt that his fingers feel too clumsy to open with any speed. She hums delightfully as his mouth places itself just under her ear, trailing down her neck to the hollow of her throat. He thinks he'll never get sick of that sound. And apparently he's been too slow with her buttons, because she's managed to do the rest, tugging her own shirt off her shoulders. Her skin's revealed, a bright purple bra a surprising but delightful sight that makes him smile. 

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, mouth occupying itself with the space by her collarbone.

She laughs low, and his insides do a double flip. "You're not so bad yourself."

A moment later, she's reaching behind her, intent on unclasping own her bra, and he's hoping like hell this all isn't just a dream, when there are two loud bangs outside, emanating from the hood of the car. It's followed by the sound of drunken hollering and cheering, shouts of approval along with cries of "get a room". Apparently they've attracted the attention of a crowd leaving the bar.

Andrew's grateful at least for the darkness outside, and the fact that the car windows are steamed up enough that their modesty is somewhat protected. Even though they're strangers in town, he still feels some sense of sheepishness at being caught necking in a car like horny teenagers. Meredith's buried her face in his neck, hiding, but he can feel her laughing against him.

"Oops?" she says eventually, the word muffled against his skin. Her breath is warm and it tickles. 

"Oops," he agrees, his hands travelling a path down to the small of her back. "So, what do you think? Do you still want to get that drink?"

Meredith leans back, eyes him. Her nose crinkles as she smiles, and his heart is so completely full of her, everything about her.

"Not anymore. I think it's time for bed, don't you DeLuca?"


End file.
